


crush.

by moonlitserenades



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Iris's heart gets broken. Plus one when it...well, when it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crush.

1.

The first time Iris got her heart broken, they were fourteen and Mikey Higgins had laughed off her admission of a crush by high-fiving his friends and saying, “I know.” She’d walked home with Barry in sullen silence that afternoon, kicking every rock and leaf that fell into her path and refusing to talk about what it was that had upset her.

(He’d found out later and hated the fact that he’d felt a twinge of relief that he wouldn’t have to watch her hold someone else’s hand in the hallway. He’d taken all her chores that week to make up for it, and bought her her favorite candy bar from the vending machine at school the next day. She’d thrown her arms around him and stayed like that for a long time, and it was better than any spoken thank you would have been.)

2.

The second time was junior prom, and she’d been asked out by the most popular guy at school. The guy she’d been mooning over for months, not because everyone else loved him, but because she’d seen something in him. That’s what she’d told Barry countless times, in his room or hers, as they worked on homework or avoided going to sleep. “He can be a jerk,” she always said, “but that’s not the real him.” Apparently they’d volunteered together at the same animal shelter several weekends in a row, and it had opened her eyes to just how great this guy actually was.

He couldn’t be so damn great, Barry thought angrily, or he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave Iris sitting here, picking at her newly manicured nails and trying not to check the time more than once a minute. “We’re already late for Mina’s party,” she muttered distractedly, “and he’s not picking up his phone.”

“Maybe he’s on his way,” Barry offered, the words sticking in his throat. Even unhappy, she looked so impossibly radiant that looking at her was like staring at the sun--beautiful, and a little painful. “Maybe the traffic is really bad.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It’s been almost an hour, Barr. I don’t think he’s coming.”

And there’s that little twinge of relief again. Barry swallowed a rush of self-loathing and put his hand on top of hers. “He’s an idiot. You’re amazing.”

She managed a small grin, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re the best.”

“Hey,” he said suddenly, seizing an opportunity that he’d been thinking about in ever more hopeful terms since around 7:45 when it became clear that Iris’s night was not going as planned, “if you want, I can go with you. I mean I know I’m not--like, the same, or whatever, but at least you wouldn’t have to go alone?”

She hugged him with such enthusiasm that she took his breath away for a second. “You’re the best,” she said, voice muffled by the fabric of his suit jacket, and she might have been crying a little, but he wasn’t sure. “Let’s go to prom.”

3.

He was on his way to o-chem, cursing under his breath as he struggled to pull on his jacket and shoulder his backpack at the same time as he half-jogged across campus. Wouldn’t even have answered the phone if he hadn’t been pulling it out to check the time (idiotically--he already knew he was late) just as it started to ring. Wouldn’t have answered it if it had been anyone else, either. But once-weekly skype chats and sporadic texting weren’t enough and he missed her, missed her like a constant ache or a phantom limb. “Iris, hey!”

“Barr?” Her voice was choked, and he halted, a sick feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “Do you have a minute?”

The decision was made immediately. He started moving again, veering around the groups of people milling about on their way to class, and tucked himself in the nearest alcove. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

She drew a breath to speak, and promptly began crying so hard that it was at least five minutes before she was capable of being coherent again. Helpless, he floundered to say something comforting, and only ended up making what he hoped were soothing shushing noises and murmuring bits of nothing like it’s okay and I’m here and whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Which was stupid, really, because it might not be okay, and he was hundreds of miles away. But it seemed to help a little, because she quieted not long later, gave a shuddering sigh, and tried again.

It turned out that her boyfriend--the first guy she’d ever told she loved him; the guy she’d lost her virginity to, which Barry still can’t think about without wanting to punch him square in the face--had been cheating on her. All his friends had known, and a few of hers. She was raw, hurting, and angrier than Barry had ever heard her. He ended up skipping all of his afternoon classes to stay on the phone with her, and regretted none of it.

4.

They’re 25, and he can’t keep it a secret anymore. He means to, sort of, only two big secrets is way too much and he can’t handle it. He tells her at the worst possible time. He tells her, and it’s like his insides are suddenly leaden. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shakes, and waits.

And he knows that look in her eyes. And she’s crying, and he knows exactly what it means.

And for the first time in both their lives, the only way he can help her is to leave.

5.

It’s awkward for a while after that. He doesn’t know what to say to her, and she obviously feels the same. But they try. He offers her and Eddie his well-wishes even though the words burn like acid on his tongue. They watch the ball drop together--Barry, Iris, and Joe, like it’s been since Barry was eight--and Iris puts her head on his shoulder and squeezes his hand. It’s just for a moment. But it’s something of the easy intimacy that they used to share, and he’s missed that. 

And slowly, they figure out how to work around it. They don’t talk about it, really. But she stops trying to set him up with every pretty girl she sees. And sometimes he catches her looking at him with an expression on her face he’s never seen before. Eventually, they go back to their late-night talks (on the phone, now, since she’s living with Eddie), and sometimes they skirt dangerously close to it. Sometimes, she’ll murmur something like, “You know how important you are to me, right?” or “God, Barry, I’m so glad I didn’t lose you.”

And one day everything changes.

One day, she’s back in the house, and she doesn’t say anything about it. She just starts doing laundry and asks Barry if he wants Chinese food or pizza for dinner. Joe stops dead at the front door when he walks in and sees her, calm as you please, watching TV with Barry as she spoons up her chicken fried rice.

(Barry hears her crying in her room every night that week, and sometimes her smile is fragile at the edges, like it will splinter and crack if anyone asks her about it. He waits. They’ll both know when she’s ready to talk about it.)

+1

It’s three am and Barry can’t sleep. He’s tried everything he can think of. Counting sheep. Deep breathing meditation. Warm milk. Everything. 

He’s actually considering going and knocking on Iris’s door, hoping that talking to her will calm his mind enough to let him sleep, except then there’s a quiet knock on his door. “Come in,” he says softly, and there she is, in her favorite fleece pajama pants and a t-shirt she stole from him years ago. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she whispers, as though that isn’t obvious. “Can I talk to you?”

“No,” he says playfully, and she thwacks him hard on the shoulder.

“Don’t be a jerk,” she says, flopping down beside him; but he can hear the smile in her voice.

He laughs, and sobers. “What’s bugging you?”

“You,” she murmurs, and he freezes. 

“What?”

“I’ve just been thinking--about Christmas.”

The memory still stings. Suddenly, he’s grateful that she can’t see his face. He winces, reflexively pulling away from her a little. “Iris, it doesn’t have to mean anything if you--”

“Let me finish,” she interrupts, and he knows her well enough to recognize that the terseness in her voice is coming from nervousness. Promptly, he clams up. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she begins, slowly. “Not really. In passing, sometimes, I guess, but not seriously. Because you were just...always there, you know? Always dependable--even if you are still late for everything.” She bumps his shoulder gently. “I knew I loved you, Barr, I just never thought about what kind of love it was.” 

She’s quiet for a while. He wishes he knew what to say, wishes he had some idea how he was supposed to feel or what this meant. Eventually, she clears her throat softly and, voice trembling slightly, she asks, “What you said...is it still true?”

He has to try a few times before his vocal cords will actually work, but eventually he manages to rasp, “Yeah.”

Then, gently, she’s touching his face, guiding him toward her. She leans in. He can feel her lips against his ear, and she whispers, “I love you too.” And then she’s kissing him. She’s kissing him, and for the first time in a very long time, everything feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. I couldn't stop myself.
> 
> I'm on tumblr @moonlitserenades if you want to chat or anything. :)


End file.
